CHAPTER 249: THE SUMMON

Elias had recovered well enough to attend tonight’s festivities, and the thought warmed her heart. He had been so excited to go, to see everyone gathered again, laughing, alive.

This ball was more than a social affair. It was her way of giving back to the maids, the guards, the servants who had stood by her through uncertain days. An evening of light before the inevitable departure.

If she were to leave with her husband after tonight, let it be on a note of laughter and music, something good to remember, before everything changed.

Leroy entered the chamber without a word. The moment his presence filled the room, both Sylvia and Emma froze. Then, as if by instinct, they curtsied and slipped out, leaving Lorraine alone with him.

He said nothing... only looked at her.

Lorraine felt the weight of his gaze, unwavering and intense, as though he feared that if he blinked, she might disappear. The sunlight fell across his features, gilding the sharp planes of his face, catching the faint tremor in his breath.

She smiled softly, meeting his eyes. That look alone was enough; she could read the admiration, the unspoken reverence, the quiet awe. And truly, what more could she ever ask for?

He offered his hand, and she placed hers upon it. Their fingers intertwined naturally, like two halves that had long known each other. Together, they walked toward the grand hall where the ball awaited; a vision of golden light and swirling gowns.

The day had been planned to be filled with laughter, song, and endless dancing. By the time dusk melted into night, the ballroom would glow beneath hundreds of candles, their flames mirrored on the polished marble floor. Lorraine wanted to stay till then.

The scent of wine, roasted meats, and honeyed pastries lingered in the air. Musicians tuned their lutes and harps as servants hurried past with trays of goblets. Lorraine’s heart swelled as she watched her people, her home, bathed in joy.

But Lorraine could feel the tension rippling through the room, subtle yet unrelenting. The guards had not yet relaxed, their vigilance a silent reminder that danger, or at least, caution, still lingered. Her gaze shifted to Aldric. He stole quick, almost shy glances at Sylvia, yet his hand rested unconsciously on the hilt of his sword, a silent readiness that spoke volumes.

For the past five years, Lorraine had never been in a place where she did not know what was happening. She had thrived on control, on understanding every corner and every nuance of her surroundings. And yet, here she was... within the familiar walls of her own home... and the uncertainty prickled at her like an unfamiliar cold. She could sense that something significant was about to unfold, but the details eluded her, leaving a rare hollow of vulnerability.

Her eyes fell on Leroy then. He was watching her, calm and steady, his expression softening when their gazes met. And just like that, a quiet assurance spread through her chest. His smile, small yet unwavering, was enough to anchor her.

For the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to relax, to let go. She could afford to be not in control when she was with him. She knew, without a shadow of doubt, that he would protect her.

Then came the sound of the ceremonial horns. The chatter quieted.

At the center of the hall stood Leroy, tall and solemn, wearing the mantle of his station. His voice carried through the hush, resonant and steady.

Lorraine watched from beside him, her hand resting lightly on his arm, as the hall fell into reverent silence.

"Tonight," Leroy began, his voice firm yet solemn, "we gather not only to give thanks but to celebrate the union of two souls, one of loyalty, one of grace, joined under the blessing of house and heaven."

Sylvia blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. She glanced toward Lorraine, confused, but Lorraine only smiled mysteriously and reassuringly.

Leroy’s voice carried over the still air. "Let it be known to all gathered here, the betrothal of Lady Sylvia of House Ironvale—"

Sylvia’s fan slipped from her hand and clattered softly against the marble.

"—to Sir Aldric of House Varnholt."

A hush rippled through the hall.

Sylvia turned toward Aldric in disbelief, her eyes wide, her lips parted in a silent question. He stood tall among the gathered guests, his expression calm but his eyes alight with quiet satisfaction. It was the look of a man who had long been planning something, savoring the moment he could finally see it unfold.

When their gazes met, Aldric’s composure softened into a smile; a small, genuine one that only she could see.

"You... you knew?" she whispered when he approached her, her voice barely a breath.

"I did," he murmured, bowing slightly as he took her trembling hand in his. "And I hoped you’d blush exactly like this."

Her cheeks deepened into a lovely shade of pink, and her lips curved into an incredulous, radiant smile. The hall broke into warm applause, the musicians striking up a soft, lilting tune.

Aldric guided her gently to the center of the hall. She followed, dazed and delighted, her earlier confusion melting into a glow that outshone the candlelight. He offered her betrothal gifts, fine fabrics, jewelry, and everything a woman’s heart would desire, but Sylvia’s eyes were only on Aldric, for he was the greatest gift of all.

When he drew her into the first dance, the music swelled, and all around them the crowd blurred into color and warmth.

Lorraine watched from the dais, her heart full, her eyes reflecting the flickering gold of the chandeliers. For once, the night belonged to joy alone.

And as Sylvia laughed softly in Aldric’s arms, the air itself seemed to shimmer, as if the sky beyond the tall arched windows had bowed in approval of the surprise that had turned into love. The music swelled, carrying the ballroom in a tide of warmth and celebration. Sunlight filtered through the tall glass windows, casting a golden glow on smiling faces, swirling gowns, and the polished marble that reflected a hundred dancing lights. For a fleeting moment, everything felt suspended—joy unbroken, the world itself celebrating the quiet bloom of love.

Then, the sound of boots striking the marble floor cut through the melody. The dancers froze mid-step, the music faltering as all eyes turned toward the entrance.

A royal guard stepped into the hall, his posture rigid, the ceremonial plume of his helmet brushing against the doorway. He cleared his throat, and the room held its breath.

"By command of His Majesty," he announced, voice carrying across the hall like the toll of a bell, "Prince Leroy of House Regis is requested, no, commanded, to present himself immediately at the Royal Audience Hall."

The words landed with weight. It was not a request, not a suggestion. It was an order, one that brooked no hesitation.